“At nights the centre becomes a ghost town, punctuated by enclaves of life where tourists congregate in restaurants and bars near historic museums, galleries and theatres. Elsewhere local businesses and residents are long gone”

I can see it now, the great figure of the autoch, no longer just a crimson smear on my overvision map. I ping my men over the squad net and we alight on the leaf of a flower, the glow of our jets banishing the shadow cast by the great petals overhead.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a piece of Friday flash fiction. I hope to post another entry later in the day explaining why. For the time being, here is another story that is technically too long to be flash, clocking in at 1,171 words. . FUNERAL